Life – Page 82 – Nourish-n-Cherish

!(The Mad Hatter of Modern Times)

I have been known to do things that are, to put it as simply as possible, nuts. Take for instance what I did last evening. It was that tricky time between twilight and night. The sounds of the night had started and the sounds of twilight had retired, but night had not fully fallen, nor twilight completely faded. Among the community of the street lights, the ones looking forward to a night’s work were glowing, while others were flickering hesitantly.

I saw an elderly couple walking on the road when I was walking briskly towards them. When they were a few yards away from me, one of them started jogging mildly. What do you think I did in response? I wish I had a points system for the person who guesses best, but I don’t. So, at this point, please remember your answer and if you have the time, please let me know in the comments. Or better yet, maybe you can try the same and let me know the result.

Here is what you do when you see an elderly couple jog/walk towards you on the road. You pull yourself to a hard stop in the middle of the road, bury your hands in your palms and look down, smiling and waiting to see what happens. It is important that you think you are invisible. That is critical to the reception you will receive.

I noticed the other person had started jogging too. This jogging couple looked mildly worried as they passed me, and they made a sweeping, swerving motion, giving me a wide berth to give stage to my many eccentricities. I looked up and burst out laughing causing them to jog faster than before. They looked like they’d seen the Mad Hatter of Modern Times, and my laugh was construed as Hysterical. It is not true I tell you. Simply not true. I am in complete possession of my marbles.

Let me explain, it is important to me that my readers do not write off my sanity this early. Regular readers know I have a toddler son. What they don’t know is that he likes playing hide-n-seek. Ask any mother, and she gushes at all the new skills her offspring is picking up. Even so, I did not have high hopes for him, given his sister’s hide-n-seek history. It is chronicled here for future reference, and a picture attached.

(Read here: https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2007/02/26/hide-n-seek/)

The son takes it a step further. He does not go through the trouble of finding a place to hide. He simply puts his head down, hides his head in his palm and smiles in the middle of the road. It is the seekers duty to look all around him and then feign surprise a minute later at finding him. Obviously, a strategy as sophisticated as this has its own jokes in the family.

Going back to what happened to that hapless couple that night: The problem was that I mistook them for my parents. I thought they were imitating me by trying to jog, and I thought I will one-up them by hiding like the little fellow. All a laughable mistake of course. But I did not see them laughing. They looked worried and hurried off.

Now, I hope their counselor finds this blog and counsels them wisely.

RIP Mr. Bharathan

In the days of yore, kings and queens vied with each other to send their children to study in the Ashram nestled among Eucalyptus groves and blue hills. The rain filled clouds were said to induce the human condition to be inspired and to inspire alike. In that ashram lived a quiet, unassuming man the princes and princesses loved. Apparently, he could make a mere child soar like a kite, fly through a roaring fire toughening them to battle fire-breathing dragons later in life and stand upside down on a pyramid of people. It was rumored that when he threw a disc, it could slice through the air with a sound of a thundering Astra.

All year long, the disciples practised and when the kings and queens came to watch, they were amazed at what their young could achieve. The teacher was really making children jump through hoops of fire, stand upside down on a pyramid of people and running with them wearing immaculate white as they stood in formation for a gymnastics performance.

This man was none other than dear Mr Bharathan, our Physical Education teacher. He was a pleasant, contented man and most importantly, he was always there for and with us on the field. He was there urging you to run a little harder, bend over backwards just a little bit more than you thought possible during gymnastics, play badminton with you, or check out your bruised ankle.

He was an excellent companion on the blue-school-bus rides. He sat through the exuberance of winning a tournament smiling and listening to us singing songs of victory. He was also there for us through the quiet rides back home after being beaten badly by a rival team, with a nod signaling that all was not over yet: with strategy and more work, there was a possibility of a comeback.

He imbibed the ‘Never Give In’ spirit as only a true sportsman could. Thank You Sir for all you have done for generations of Lawrencians. We will miss you, as we practise what you taught us all those years ago in the Sports field, in our everyday lives. May your soul rest in peace.

One Mad Hen with a Green V

“Did you go to <fill in any place where parking is a pain> by any chance on Thursday afternoon – the day before the long weekend?” the husband asks.

I was astounded. How did he know? I admitted I had, all the time marveling at the Sherlock Holmes in him.

“How did you know?” I ask

He grins and waves a parking ticket at my face. I don’t know how I manage it. I look around for all the signs that say it is okay to park in a particular spot. I pay for it. Display on windshield. I hassle innocent bystanders and ask for reassurance that my parking is not going to get me in trouble and two weeks later, I land a parking ticket. I grin sheepishly and gulp at the amount. I could have gone ten times with that money.

So, you can imagine my trepidation when I had to spend three days on the University grounds to drop off my nephew. To make matters worse, the first thing folks told me when I landed at my nephew’s university was that parking was a pain and if I was not careful, I would have a windshield full of parking tickets for my collection. I was not pleased.

The day dawned bright and early and there I was entering the University grounds, my eyes peeled for parking signs. I promptly circled the main area six times in a clockwise direction (And once in the anti-clockwise direction before realizing halfway that it was a one way street and hastily turning around. ). Moving on, I figured that at this rate, none of us would get anywhere and I dropped the nephew and his father in the general vicinity of a map and headed to the parking garage.

I parked in a spot marked ‘V’. ‘V’ for Visitor. I paid for the parking slot and strode out of the Garage. Ten steps on, doubt crept in. What if ‘V’ stood for ‘Van’ or ‘Viscosity’ or ‘Valedictorian’? The stride faltered, the pace slowed, and I found myself looking doubtfully at the garage. Luckily for me, I also saw signs for a ‘Parking Office’ and I headed there.

When in doubt, ask. So, I stood in line and headed to a desk clerk.

He was drinking in, his morning cup of creamer and coffee and fixed me with a stern glare. Folks who work at Universities have a way of doing this to you even if they work at the Parking Office I tell you.

As is my wont when fixed with the stern glare, I gulped and asked .”Err..is it okay to park in a spot marked ‘V’?”

“What do you mean marked ‘V’? Were there ‘V’s on either side of the spot?”

“NO, there was a ‘V’ in the middle.”

“In all my years of service here, I have never seen a spot with a ‘V’ drawn in the middle. You had better head out and see that there are ‘V’s on either side.Otherwise, you WILL get a parking ticket.”

I nodded, and understanding that my allocated time was up, headed back up to the garage. I ran up the stairs and huffed and puffed up to my spot. I had seen wrong. There was no ‘V’ in the middle of the spot, but on either side. So, I headed back to the Coffee & Creamer desk clerk to show him a ‘Thumbs up’ sign. He grinned and said, “Then fine!”

Luckily I did not have to stand in the pesky line again, but the man talking to him was startled for a moment. Clearly whatever he had going just then was not falling under the category of ‘Then fine!” and he looked at me with a facial green that was pure jealousy.

I turned my back to exit. But you know how they say that when you exit the royalty, you must never show your back, or you shall pay? I paid.

“Just make sure, it is a green ‘V’ and not a red ‘V'” he said to my retreating back.

There are 26 different alphabets in the English language to choose from. Twenty-six. Why not pick an ‘A’ or a ‘Z’. No. They have to go for a red and a green ‘V’. Damn all parking signs. So, back to the garage and up the stairs and past the cars I went to make sure it was a green ‘V’. I emerged from the stairs and what do I see? A cop standing near my car. Not this time young man, not this time. Please. So, I ran hard with my backpack flapping against my back and breathing like a charging rhino.

“Please *puff* officer. I just *pant* went to verify whether *pant* I had parked in the right spot. *puff puff pant pant* He said a green ‘V’ was okay.” I glanced down and saw that I had not erred. I had parked between the lines showing a green ‘V’ on either side.

The Officer looked like he’d seen the idiot of the day in the morning itself and laughed out loud assuring me that it was okay to park there as long as the ticket was displayed on the dashboard.

If you remember, I urged folks to wear sensible shoes while going to drop children in college, and that is partly because in my enthusiasm to not get a parking ticket, I kept parking in the same garage in the green ‘V’ spots. This garage was in the centre of the University and if one needed to walk 2.3 miles to see something, so be it. I was not budging.

If I get a ticket for this, I swear to God, I will be one mad hen. One Mad Hen.

Unleashing Teen Potential

Ask me what I have been up to and you would find me fumbling for words. There has been much going on that had me reaching for tissues (No, I don’t have a cold, I mean of the nostalgic type)

I am not much of a sappy writer, but I must admit the past weeks experiences tugged at my heart strings like no violinist has tugged on his violin before.

You see, I went with the nephew to admit him to college. The same bundle of a baby that I sniffed at the day he was born more than 17 years ago. It reminded me of how much wisdom I have gained over the years, that I did not go and meet his would-be class mates for the next 4 years and tell them all about how he was the most beautiful baby I had ever laid my eyes on. In fact, I did not even tell them that he recognized and smiled at me within hours of being born. (I know since that it is gas, but try telling a teenage first-time aunt that)

As I walked the grounds of the University, I could not help feeling inspired. The campus was sprawling and the faculty seemed to be filled with competent and motivated professors. The atmosphere was one which had me reaching back longingly to the recesses of my brain where I had loved lolling in the library and reading up on random topics. Not only that, the University library was named after one of my favorite authors (Dr Seuss) and I got to take a picture of his statue

Statue of Dr Seuss with the Cat in the Hat

The University grounds were large and impressive and best of all, filled with Eucalyptus groves and one singing tree. Oh! The lure of Eucalyptus leaves : it brought back some extremely pleasant childhood memories. I grew up in the Nilgiris where Eucalyptus trees dotted almost every hillside. I sniffed around the campus inhaling the scents every opportunity I could.

Great thoughts seeped into my mind as I took in the scents. For example, I wondered why on Earth I had not thought of wearing sneakers instead of sandals. Here is a tip to all readers going to drop their kids in college : please wear comfortable shoes.

Walking around the campus and taking in the trepidation on the young, eager faces ready to start college was … well, priceless. But what really sealed the deal was the number of times parents worried about what the children would eat at college. After the thirteenth time the topic came up, we decided to fatten the boy up before dropping him off in his room with this:

Unleashing teen potential maybe the University’s concern, but I have no doubt they have a solid foundation to start with. Watching this pizza disappear in minutes was enough to convince me that great things are possible.

Here is wishing the College-going-lot all the very best.

Rainbow Dash

I was waiting to break into my new running shoes. Like a child waiting to play in the rain, I cast loving looks at the shoes every now and then and vowed to get up early the next morning and go for a run. Maybe my excitement rubbed off on my toddler son, but he was up before the lark and waiting for me by the shoes before my run. “Amma. Thum Amma Thum. Thunning Amma Thunning. Shoos thunning.”

(Lexicon: Thum: Come, Thun: Run, Shoos: Shoes)

My shoulders sagged a bit, but he had an enthusiastic-puppy-look about him and so off we went. The pair of us running with a stroller in hand. It was my plan to bundle him into the stroller a little way in and then run. But the fellow had plans of his own. He ran with his little steps by my side. I could walk, but he insisted I thun with him. So, I than. For this pace of running I needed no running shoes, but it was wonderful. He kept running, then squealed and stopped to see a passing truck. We ran again. A few feet on, there was a pile of dry leaves. We both jumped in there, squashing the leaves and listening to the crackle under our feet. This run was not going to be measured in terms of distance, that much was certain. We crushed the leaves underfoot till a yeti couldn’t have gotten a crackle out of it anymore. We ran some more and spotted a children’s park nearby and made for it. We chased birds, played in the swing and walked back – the toddler a spent force, but still refusing to sit in his stroller.

As we walked back that beautiful day, the sun burst forth with a few well chosen sprinkles of rain and we walked home under a glorious rainbow that the child said was ‘Ennow Tash’ (‘Rainbow Dash’ is the name of a pony princess or some such thing that he is forced to watch with his older sister. This famous Rainbow Dash has a wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Dash#Rainbow_Dash) I am sure this will become a problem later, but for now he is proud he knows about Rainbow Dash, the pony princess.

When I read this article about an artist collaborating with her 4 year old son, the story warmed my heart. It reminded me of that run that became a rainbow dash and how what I planned turned into something far more meaningful just because I was willing to let go. Maybe, if we relinquish control more often, we will find joy in different ways.

http://busymockingbird.com/2013/08/27/collaborating-with-a-4-year-old/

The Tongue-Tied Commenter

The father is an obsessive news watcher and every season sees a different upheaval. The news, for its share, never ceases to entertain him.

I remember, years ago, when he had his opinions typed out and sent to the newspaper. He beamed when they were published in the newspapers. He proudly showed the piece of paper on which he had typed it out using the pen-name he had given himself so people would believe him. I suppose it was something, given that the editors combed through hundreds of letters to the editor and posted a select few.

The advent of the Internet might be a blessing in many ways, but it has made this man’s life busier than ever. There is new content being posted all the time waiting for his review and approval. How many articles jostle for his comments and views? It is tiring work sometimes, but the septuagenarian keeps at it. He painstakingly lingers on the keyboard, his face screwed up with intense concentration, and uses his index fingers to type out his thoughts. As his comments rush out, his tongue peeps out of his mouth to see a bit of typing action. It means he is focused. Before long, one sees scathing remarks, where his dry wit shines through. It is a pity Literature students don’t comb the comments section on Indian newspaper sites. The prose there is littered with the profuse, the exaggerated, the new word that came through in the word-a-day email: it is all there and more. I have tried telling him that there being no limit to the real estate on the internet, all his comments will be published, but he shakes his head sanguinely and explains to the idiot child, “No. That cannot be true child. If that is the case, how come my comments don’t appear immediately? I get an email stating that the comment has been approved, which means that only valid points are being published.”

There is another change: he now boldly uses his own name, links to his Facebook profile (much to the mother’s chagrin, since they have one profile and it looks like she is typing the theses. “As if I have no work!” she says disapprovingly). A change that I am not exactly proud of, given that India’s tolerance seems to be dipping.

The last time he visited us, the 3G scam was the topic of conversation. This time, it is the sliding value of the Indian Rupee against the dollar.

The markets have been volatile as a result of which the Indian rupee lost about a third of its value. Inflation has been on the rise and Indian economists are clawing at arguments and counter-arguments to see what the solution is. The father, the commenter, has been writing furiously on varied sites about how the country came to be in such a sorry state with all the time he can spare. Sometimes, another octogenarian somewhere will ‘Like’ his comment, and that evening he is a pleased man. “I told you people read all the comments.” he says.

Even he had no comment to make to this posting however.

http://articles.economictimes.indiatimes.com/2013-09-02/news/41688915_1_rupee-madhya-pradesh-congress-appreciating-dollar

The Madhya Pradesh Unit of the Congress ( A leading political party in India) came up with the argument (pasted below) for the sliding rupee and was evidently so pleased with itself for thinking up something this brilliant, that it went and posted it on Facebook for all to see:

“The value of rupee is the same in India… Only the value of dollar has increased… The value of rupee has not fallen. How many of you people go to the market to buy dollars? How many of you come back with dollars? The value of dollar has increased only for those who buy dollars.”

A great philosophy that is not being given the credit it deserves. But such is life. I am sure that the father would have thought up something appropriate on the topic by the time I roll around in the evening, but till then, the article languishes without his comments. It seems a pity since it seems to be taking heat from a large number of people and there might have been a chance of someone reading his comments on the subject.

I saw this meme on my google plus feed and thought it most coincidental that it should appear the day I am writing a post on comments (I could not find the original author of this one to credit him or her, but I truly laughed at it….so, whoever you are, thank you.)

The Intelligence Behind the Mattress

I recently checked out a mattress for a friend on my laptop. I mean I clicked on the links sent to me, saw the images and read the reviews. Here is my plea to all you companies out there that use my rich browsing history to guide me to the right path of retail therapy: Please stop. I am not planning to buy a mattress. Really. Believe me. My friend already bought a mattress, so I really am in no real need of even checking one out. Thank You.

I actually have a very funny story involving all the different mattresses in the home that I plan to buckle down and write in the next few months. Should I take pictures of all the mattresses in my home and post it on Facebook? You can then scrape the images most popularly posted and send that to advertising companies and they can in turn peddle sheets and pillow cases instead of mattresses on my Facebook feed. Wait. I remember seeing pictures of Sheets and Comforters too.

I appreciate all the help honestly. I think though that we may have a little of too much intelligence floating around the web. Which is why, i sometimes like to linger on the idiotic ones: trying to recreate the algorithms that figured that one out. It is a fun game and hugely entertaining not to mention gives us the luxury of wasting our time. Once, I was urged to send a friend of mine roses on her birthday. Freshly plucked they claimed to be too. All I could think of was this wonderful conversation we had in that friend’s garden when we were about eight or nine years old and she told me how much she hated to see flowers plucked from their plants.

So, I can’t say that I am not glad that Facebook decided to stop peddling physical gifts that no one wants.

http://news.cnet.com/8301-1023_3-57599947-93/facebook-stops-peddling-physical-gifts-no-one-wants/

You would be right in scratching your chin at that one. I don’t know what that sentence means: Will or won’t I miss the advertisements? I don’t know because the one about sending flowers made me smile thinking of us looking for lady bugs in the flower patch and talking of this and that, but it also detracts from whatever I am looking for. Which is nothing. So I suppose I won’t miss them.

The Athletic Girls

The niece was a-visiting for the summer. She is a year older than my daughter, and the cousins spent hours dawdling, drawing, ‘illustrating my books’, reading and watching shows on Television. The husband looked at them lolling around and decided that what the girls required was a severe physical regimen and enrolled them in a Badminton camp not far from home. The girls were excited enough about it and got ready on time. There was a lot of noise about backpacks and water bottles and questions about whether they would need Gatorade etc. In all the melee, I was shrewd enough to notice that we did not have badminton rackets for the girls. Ask anybody. If you need to learn badminton, you need badminton rackets.

I walked swiftly to the car wondering whether we had enough time to stop at a store and pick up the rackets without being late for the first day of class. I just put on my seatbelt when my athletic daughter piped, “Don’t worry ma! I found the rackets. Come! Let’s go.”

Perplexed is the word I am looking for here. You see? This precious daughter can’t find a spoon if it is sitting on her plate in front of her. There have been times when I’ve sent her upstairs to fetch something with specific instructions. “Go to your room. Turn on the light. Turn to the right. Look near the bookcase, there is a box. In that box, you will find a pair of scissors. Bring it.”

“Amma….I don’t need instructions like that! I know where the box is.” Sassy Tasha.

A minute later, “Errm. Amma, have you moved the box?”

“No!”

“I can’t see it there.”

“Did you check near the shelf?”

“YESSS!” Irritated Polly

“Isn’t it there? Near the shelf. Check behind the door.”

“NO!”

So, I thump upstairs moaning and walk into the room, turn right and there to the left of the bookcase is a box containing a pair of scissors. I turn around with a question mark and an exclamation mark on my face. The daughter says, totally unabashed “OH! To the left of the bookcase, I looked here – on the right.”

This girl found badminton rackets in the home when I thought we didn’t have any usable ones? Fishy. So, I heaved myself out of the car and asked her to show me the rackets. She proudly held up two Wilson tennis rackets.

We were running late to a class on the first day, and yet, I had to laugh at this. I gave myself a face-palm and bundled her off to the car. All this while, if you will notice the niece is nowhere to be seen. So, I finally holler for her and ask her what is holding her back, and she says, “One minute! I am trying to decide whether to take mixture or chips for snacks!”

Priorities Ladies & Gentlemen. Priorities.

Badminton Rackets — Playing badminton with tennis rackets

The American Badminton Coaches, however, are a sturdy breed. They got these girls to establish contact between the shuttle-cock and the right kind of racket at the end of it all.

The TRUCKERS

Have you ever done something for an admiring audience? Something mundane that you brilliantly execute in front of your admirers? You feel pretty good that you consider it mundane and therefore a little embarrassed at all the rosy-eyed attention, but a trifle pleased with yourself that what for you is simple, is so inspirational in others.

I am sure that is pretty much how the truck driver felt. A little embarrassed at the amount of attention his job was drawing and then a tiny glow of satisfaction at the admiring audience. The truck-driver was able-bodied enough though his stomach was beginning to look prosperous. He looked reasonably happy. In other words, a person one might have passed on the street without stopping to remember. Like a wet umbrella on a rainy day.

I need to set a context I see: The day was cloudy and the son was strapped in a stroller slightly against his will. But once the stroller started rolling, he sat back for a merry ride and what an experience it turned out to be! We had not really expected such a huge truck to come rolling on the road. As far as trucks go, this one was an eel and a whale all rolled together. It had at least 18 wheels, painted a brilliant green and had two huge containers strapped on its back, with another motorized lift at the end of the carrier of the truck. The truck driver was to drop off the huge containers to some building and we were walking right in front of that building. The truck stopped on the island in the middle of the road, and the operations began. The truck driver (it seems wrong to not give him an exalted title, maybe THE TRUCKER) got down and then lowered the machinery at the back of the truck single-handedly, fork-lifted the huge container onto the machinery and made off to deliver the thing.

The operation lasted less than twenty minutes and he obstructed three cars for a period of 30 seconds during the whole operation. THE TRUCKER then gave us a friendly wave with a sheepish grin that made the little feller in the stroller grin shyly too and he was off.

I had to sizzle back to the operation of unloading a few sacks in New Delhi a few years ago (Please refer to point #4 in the post: https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2008/03/05/traffic-absolutely-rules-in-delhi/) .

The truck driver there was not able-bodied enough, and his stomach looked like it could have done with another few parathas; but he looked like a man ready to wreak havoc on a busy interstate road.

He first parked his vehicle diagonally across the road. This enabled him to obstruct traffic flowing in both directions. The traffic was comprised of fellow trucks, cars, motorbikes, cycles, vans and buses. Not to mention some buffaloes and dogs.

Then, two helpers of his jumped down to aid things along.

What a fine mess the fellows made! They shouted at each other, shouted at folks walking past, shouted at folks trying to get to work in the morning and preened themselves in a mirror when they saw some girls staring to watch. All this while, folks are doing all they can to ease the flow. Motorcycles honked their way through and tried getting onto the dirt stretch on one side of the road to navigate the temporary bottleneck.

Finally, after about 32 minutes of a lot of shouting and yelling and cross-fighting and air-punching, three bags of potatoes were carried off by the helpers. How do I know they were potatoes? Because in all the melee of combing their hair for the girls, they had forgotten to fasten the string around the potato-sacks. The moment they carried one sack, it flopped and fell spectacularly in the middle of the road. The three fellows, aided by the restauranteur and his four helpers scrambled after all the potatoes, leaping under cars and running after poor children who managed to secure a few for their home, and finally got the potato delivery done.

I still don’t understand why, but the driver beamed with pride at the end of the delivery and made off.

The same job a different day………and so it goes. Fascinating deliveries both.

Nobody Appreciates a Bread-Runner

‘Unencumbered’ is the word I want when I set out to run a couple of miles in the morning. I like the cloudy days the best. You know the sun is going to come blazing through in its summer glory in a few hours, but you waddle on in the slightly chill morning laughing at all those people who will be running in the sun later. Ha!

I am almost out the door. The larks are singing and the birds are rising. The sleepy mother calls out to me and I ask her why she is up early. She shakes her head in a Duty-Beckons sort of way and asks, “Where are you going to run?”

“Just around the block. Through the fields. Fresh air is the key.” I was going to expand a little on the fresh-air-for-lung concept when I saw her mind already marching past towards her sense of purpose, so I shelved it for the moment.

“How far is Walgreens? Can’t you run to Walgreens instead?”

“Why?” I think I know where this is going, feign ignorance and hope for the best.

“There is no bread in the house, can you buy a loaf and run back?” she asks.

I nodded. After all the poor lady shook herself out of sleep to ask for a loaf of b.

Now, when I run, I snorkel away from signals like an octopus from a shark, but the Walgreens route shows me no such luxury. I stop at signals and run my way through. Pant my way through is more like it. I should be fitter than I am, but anyway…. I charge into Walgreens with the speed of a rhino chasing a dog, and stop as soon as I enter for I see 3 shocked customers, 1 shocked saleslady and 1 disapproving passport photo taker, who just had his subject turn away when he clicked to see the source of the commotion. Never have I made such a splash entering the store. I try to slink into the aisles, but the disapproving stares follow me even though people have started tending their own business.

I’d like to tell you that I bought the bread and ran back, for that is what I did. But I tell you. Till you run with a loaf of bread in your hand it is very hard to appreciate bread-runners. Let’s talk about positioning for one shall we?

How do you position a loaf of bread while running?

1) The nonchalant approach:

Just clutch the bread packet by its top and run. But it dangles from left to right like a pendulum clock and you land up swaying with it. Not to mention this looks very appealing to dogs out on a walk. Try it to see what I mean.

2) The Tin soldier with one arm approach:

Then I tried to keep the arm with the b.packet dangling limply by my side, while my other hand is clenched in a runners fist. I suppose this will work, but I realize this is like being in a march past where you are only allowed to swing one arm, but keep the rhythm of the other arm in sync with the left and right feet. It feels lopsided and half hearted and the bread packet looks stung for being left out of the festivities.

3) The Marcher Approach:

So I try running like a marcher. Swing both hands freely and run. I swear Bread packets have character. Mine did not take kindly to this swaying and to-ing and fro-ing. He, I mean it, scowled at me, kept banging me on my knees and generally creating havoc.

I scowled back, for I don’t approve of scowlers much – inanimate or otherwise. But this time, he (it!) slid from my hands. So, I had to take to walking a few steps, reassuring him(it) that all was well,and then run again.

Finally I tottered into my house clutching the bread only to have a voice ask, “Why did you buy bread now? There is enough for breakfast.”

A silent howl escaped me, but a louder, grandmotherly howl overtook mine and said, “No there isn’t! I asked her to buy it.”

Thank Heavens. And the next time you see a bread-runner, please stop and salute them. They deserve it.

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